After the war
by Ink sunset
Summary: A series of songfics/poemfics(?) set after the war. i will try and keep them updated as much as I can, but of course some parts may become AU as the manga goes on. LeviPetra, AruAni and Eremika all planned, probably more as time goes on.


The poem here is Aftermath by Siegfried Sassoon

Disclaimer: I own neither the songs/poems in this fic, nor Shingeki no Kyojin. Any and all other trademarks which may be referenced are copyrights of their respective owners, and not my property.

Chapter 1:Aftermath

_Have you forgotten yet?..._

_For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,_  
_Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:_  
Levi trudged through the streets of the inner city in wall Sina, watching the oh-so-rich men there riding along with their carriages, as if nothing had ever happened, neither the Titans, nor the coup d'etat.

_And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow_  
_Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,_  
_Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare._

It was over now. The Survey Corps were no longer needed. Humanity was safe, from the threat inside the walls as well as outside. They'd disbanded, promising to meet again, and they would. They were too tight-knit to let each other go. But what was he meant to do now? Did they really expect him to forget everything he'd seen, everyone he'd seen?

_But the past is just the same-and War's a bloody game...  
Have you forgotten yet?...  
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget._

He'd arrived. A memorial,to all those hundreds of thousands of men and women, civilian and soldiers, who'd died against the terror of the Titans. Of course, the statue above the engraved names showed squad Levi. Yeager, Ackerman, Springer, Reiss, Kirstein, Blouse...and him. But none of the original members... he found that ironic. Walking round the massive slab, he at last found the name he was looking for. Petra Ral.

_Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz–_  
_The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?_  
_Do you remember the rats; and the stench_  
_Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench-_  
_And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?_  
_Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'_

So many times. So many expeditions beyond the wall they'd been on. Overnight, so many vigilant watches. He remembered so many times she'd helped him comfort the dying, the dead, out to help, rain or shine. And yet, these people...these **scum** around him couldn't care less.

He'd loved her, and she'd died, and they couldn't care less.

In a society like that, another war just seemed inevitable.

He really hoped Historia could help. They'd lost enough.

_Do you remember that hour of din before the attack–_

_And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then_  
_As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?_

He remembered every time they'd gone out, and come back, the people. Only the children cheered for the survey corps. The rest spat on them. Every time he went out, he could tell most were not going to survive. Subconsciously, even his Petra. He had known the risks. Most of the people they spat on would not come back. They would die for those who did the spitting. They all did. Mike Zacharius, Dita, and his Petra. They all died. And it made his blood boil.

_Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back_  
_With dying eyes and lolling heads—those ashen-grey_  
_Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?_

He remembered. He remembered soaring through the forests, and being shocked to find Gunther's body. He remembered. He remembered landing by the tree, to find Petra slumped against it, skull smashed, and the rage, but still too the mind-wracking grief, though his face remained still. He remembered. He remembered being forced to abandon their bodies on the journey back. He remembered.

_Have you forgotten yet?...  
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget._

He remembered. He placed his bundle of flowers by the name, and stood, looking around at the sky, the buildings, and the cruel, uncaring world through blurry eyes as the tears began to trickle down his face. He remembered. How could he ever forget?


End file.
